


Better late than never

by coffee_maker



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Rating will go up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_maker/pseuds/coffee_maker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dark was a good cover for things that better were left unsaid. But it also made the cowards bold, let them do things they'd be too scared to do in bright daylight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> All my thanks go to Riptide for beta-ing. You are a great help and I'm happy that you found time for my fic! All mistakes are my own, though, as I tend to change things around at last notice ;).
> 
> Bioware owns the characters and the world setting, of course. I only expand that a bit :).

The sun hardly found its way into his room at the Hanged Man. His old quarters in the ancient elven keep had been much smaller, but the window faced the east, so whenever he forgot to close the curtain, golden rays of sunshine used to tickle him awake in the morning. It was funny to remember exactly that detail when there were so many other things he should actually write into his book about the Inquisition.

He sighed and looked at the paper in front of him. So far, he wasn't even able to decide what point of view he should use. Inquisitor-centric, unreliable narrator —that would be him, then— omniscient narrator? Not even to speak of which details should go into the book and which had better not. He was damned sure going to include the romances, even though it might be only for a certain Nevarran's delight. And he should consider writing two versions, otherwise Cullen's wrath might fall down on him.

"Varric? Are you happy?"

He looked up at his friend. It was a relief to have Hawke back here, finally.

"Being back in Kirkwall is good."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, so stop bullshitting me." Green eyes glared at him, visibly annoyed. He took his reading glasses off and dragged his hand over his face.

"I'm as happy as I can be, Hawke." He was a little proud of how levelly his voice came out.

"Is that enough?"

He really wasn't in the mood for a heavy conversation. To be honest, he had been avoiding the _Bianca_ subject since he came back a few months ago, but it seemed like now was the time he had to face it.

"There's no such thing as a happily ever after."

She snorted at his words. "I know that myself, thank you very much."

"And for some people, there's no happily ever before, either." He shrugged his shoulders and hoped it came across indifferently enough to shut his friend up.

Of course, that had never worked with Hawke. "Bullshit," she said. "What about the—"

"Don't go there again," he interrupted the woman.

"But she is in every fucking letter you sent me!"

"We're friends. Like I'm friends with the Inquisitor. Or Sera."

"Mh-hm." Hawke played with a quill, obviously pondering if she should keep on prodding. "What about Bianca?"

"What _about_ her?"

"When was the last time you've heard from her?"

"A year?" He became exasperated. "Look, before you keep on sticking your nose into other people's business: I broke off contact to her after Valammar. Good enough?"

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," she murmured silently, but not silently enough. He glowered at her.

Hawke got up to put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "Write that book for your Seeker. She'll love it."

"She's not my—"

The door fell shut before he could finish.

***

The knock on his door wasn't hesitant, or shy, or reluctant. _Insistent_ was the exact word for it. If he didn't know better, he'd say there were only a few people who knocked quite like that. And none of them were anywhere within 150 miles close of his door.

"Come in!"

Well, maybe _one_ was.

"Varric."

"Seeker." He tried to mask his breathless surprise and failed miserably. "I didn't expect you. You know you could've just written?" Her shy half smile fell and he wanted to kick himself.

_Way to go, dwarf. Now you've managed to disappoint her within the first five seconds. That gotta be a new record._

"I can leave you to your work—" She took a step back and he shook his head maybe a little too vehemently.

"No! I mean, take a seat, I have time." _Always_ , he wanted to say, _I have time for you, always_. "How about some food and a glass of wine?"

"Yes. That would be nice. It has been a long trip."

"We'll get something to eat in a second." He fetched a glass and poured the rest of the bottle in. "Where are you coming from?"

"Denerim, and then Amaranthine. The ship travel was unpleasant."

He gave her a pitying glance. "Bad weather?"

"Yes. But I have to admit that the captain knows her trade." Cassandra sipped on her wine and continued, "Although she prefers being addressed with 'admiral'."

Varric choked on his wine and coughed violently. "You came here with _Isabela_?" he croaked, when he was able to suck in some air again.

"Yes."

He could've sworn that her eyes glittered with amusement.

"She told me about some interesting occuren—"

The door flung open and the self-announced admiral flew in. "Varric!" she shouted and threw herself into his lap. He noticed the Seeker's raised eyebrows while he tried to not push his face into the other woman's cleavage. Maker's balls, he was the last to complain about the view but they weren't the breasts he wanted see from up close. _Very_ up close.

_She'd rather be possessed by a demon than let you close like that. That's why you won't get to see them like that, you idiot._

"Rivaini! Just heard from the Seeker that you docked in Kirkwall!" He hugged her and then shoved her off his lap. "Go and get yourself something to drink, and order food for us. And bring another bottle of red wine with you."

Varric was searching for words after the dark-skinned woman left. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, and probably only a third of them he _should_ say.

"So. What brings you here?"

"The Seekers," she sighed, and it neither sounded excited, nor happy. "There have always been rumors about a secret outpost between here and Ostwick."

Of course, he knew that she wouldn't come here just to see _him_. But still... yeah. He was a fool; had been one for a long time. And to top it off, he was a fool to think time and distance would help cool off his feelings. He knew how well that had worked with Bianca, after all.

"And you're going to find out if it's true," he stated. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible. But—" She shot him a glance under heavy lids. "I need a horse, and I have to check what's left of the Chantry archives here." She pressed her lips together.

"Which won't be much. If you tell me what exactly you're looking for I might be able to dig out something from the city's archives, though." He swirled the wine in his glass.

"I would appreciate it." Her lips twitched into a smile, making his heart want to flutter out of his rib cage.

Isabela rushed in with her arms full with drinks. "Food will come soon. Wine for the sissies, and the real stuff for me." She put the glass and the bottle down.

Cassandra scowled. "Did you forget that night yet?"

"What night?" Varric's eyes shifted between the two women, but Isabela only laughed.

"I propositioned Princess here, and she drank me under the table instead." She winked at the Seeker whose cheeks were dusted with a bit of pink. _Of course_ the Rivaini would hit on Cassandra. He managed to keep his face blank just so.

"I still think you should get out of that armor of yours more often. It's so _stiff_. And among the three of us, there should be only one stiff thing in this room. You getting out of all that steel might help along with it, too." She grinned smugly while Cassandra almost spurted her wine across the table. Varric felt a blush adorning his cheeks and leaned back to get out of the candle light.

Cassandra's silent growl spurred him into action, and he uttered a sharp, "Bela! Knock it off."

She lifted her hands in a placating fashion. "Alright, alright. You're two sticks-up-the-ass, that's what you are." Isabela turned a chair around and sat down on it backwards between the other two.

"What's that, a quadruple shot?" He tried to diffuse the underlying tension.

"I just told Corff to fill the glass up," she said and took a hearty slug. "Bah, he really should change the supplier." She looked at the Nevarran. "I want a rematch, Princess."

"Do you think the tables would be turned tonight? I'm still a Nevarran. _And_ a Seeker. We've got stamina."

Isabela raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I'd count how often you can make me scream, Princess." Cassandra made a noise in the back of her throat and Varric was grateful that, for once, he wasn't the aim of it. "Or we can go to the Blooming Rose and find out how loud they can make _you_ scream." She waggled her eyebrows.

"You don't think anybody present would be able to?"

Varric took a sharp inhale, feeling his own blood being indecisive whether to rush down south or up in his face. If he didn't know so much better, he'd think that the Seeker was flirting filthily. He shifted as innocently as possible but he couldn't deny a certain sensation in his belly. Cassandra looked a bit horrified at her own retort and her face showed a vigorous flush when she shot him a peek from half-hooded eyes.

"Touché, Princess." Isabela leaned forward and laughed. "I could but you don't want me to. Unless you changed your mind? And Varric isn't into humans, so that leaves only the Blooming Rose. I don't recommend any of the patrons here at the Hanged Man. But the service at the Rose is worth its money, though. Aaaaaand—" she emptied her glass, "I think it's your call to get fresh drinks!"

Varric wanted to strangle the pirate, mimicking the motion with his hands clenched around the armrest. He watched the Seeker's back vanish through the door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

"Phhhh. She's gorgeous, smart, and wittier than your letters let on. And she's so tense, she needs to get laid. I'm just helping out a little." She shrugged.

"You are not helping at all," he spat out.

"Wait—" She looked at him hard, maybe properly for the first time this evening, maybe even for the first time in _years_ , then she whistled. "Oh, _that's_ what it is. You're sweet on her! And if I would've known that you'd fuck humans, as well, I'd have tried much harder." She smirked.

"Oh, shut it. Me and the Seeker? Don't be ridiculous." He managed to color his words with a derisive tone. Of course, Isabela didn't buy it.

"You haven't told her?"

He knew Isabela well enough; denial was futile, and he exhaled. "Of course not."

"Why?"

He didn't answer, just glared at her, trying to will her into silence.

"Whatever, Varric. Go for it. She's not as uptight as you might think. And who cares, she'll leave soon and you'll stay." She shrugged.

"Not sure if that's a blessing or a curse," he muttered.

Isabela opened her mouth to retort something but the door hinges creaked at that very moment, and the Seeker came back with her hands full with drinks and a maid carrying their food right behind her. Varric wondered if he should switch to whisky, as well. Might be better if he didn't remember all of this evening.

"Where are you staying in Kirkwall, Princess?" The pirate chewed out between two bites.

Cassandra looked at Isabela and then at her hands on the cutlery. "I planned to take quarters at the Chantry's novice building but I wasn't aware that it's still in ruins. So, I will try to find a room at an inn." She gave Varric an almost accusing look while she reached for her glass and sipped her wine. He bristled slightly; was he supposed to build up everything with his own hands?

"Varric has a guestroom," Isabela threw in. "It's more of a tiny, dark closet, to be honest, but it has an actual bed. I've used it before, when the night's gotten too late to stumble back to Hawke's. Or when the stumbling got too much." She looked at the dwarf. "You would let her sleep here for a few days, wouldn't you?"

He wasn't sure if that was a good idea at all. To know that Cassandra was only a door away might do unhealthy things to his sleep. Of course, he wasn't exactly famous for his good ideas.

"Sure, no big deal. Make yourself at home, Seeker."

"And I could stay with you, Princess. To make sure that you are safe. The bed's big enough for two if we snuggle a little." She winked at Cassandra.

"So considerate, Pirate!" Cassandra snorted. "It won't be necessary. I'm very able to defend my honor. Might be easier without you in my bed, too."

"Or maybe you just want a bit of alone time with our most favorite dwarf?" Isabela showed a toothy grin and the Seeker actually turned an interesting shade of crimson, before she continued, "Varric, get more drinks for the ladies!"

He reluctantly left his room. It probably wasn't a good idea to leave the two women alone for too long, so he urged Corff on.

When he came back, Isabela had her arm around the Seeker's shoulders and whispered something in her ear. Cassandra glowered at her but nodded once while there was an adorable tinge of red on her neck. He briefly pondered how her blush would taste, and then only sighed and put the drinks on the table while Isabela sat down on her chair again.

"Seeker, did you polish up your skills with Wicked Grace?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you have a spare shirt for me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating as there will be explicit smut in this chapter! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to all you wonderful readers who left kudos and comments in the first chapter! I'm very happy that you've liked it so far :).

"Can I—" Cassandra swallowed and he stared at the movement on her neck, stamping down another sudden urge to find out just how good she would feel under his lips. "My pack is still at the Chantry and I would rather not sleep in my _stiff_ armor." She watched him expectantly.

He was stunned. Did Cassandra Pentaghast really ask him for a—

"Maybe you have a spare shirt for me?" She pressed on with a mixture of clear impatience and something he almost suspected to be dread.

"Of course," he hurried to reply and rummaged through his armoire. Maker, he had too many tunics. Something soft but not flashy. One of the longer shirts, otherwise it wouldn't even cover her butt. Maker's balls, he really didn't ask for that picture now. Maybe later, when he was alone, he'd have an opportunity to think about Cassandra's ass not being covered by his clothes. Just not now. Nope.

He fished one out and handed it to her. She was fire-red on her face, and he was pretty sure it matched his complexion perfectly. He would never ever wash that tunic again. Maybe he could find somebody to frame it for him. He willed his lively imagination down which was just too eager to entertain the idea of her bare skin under his— _No_.

"There's a wash bowl and a pitcher with water in the room. And there should be a towel, as well," he managed to say. How he'd even find appropriate words in this situation, he didn't know.

"Thank you." She smiled and his knees became weak. She eyed him up and down, barely noticeably lingering on his chest and arms.

"Any time. I can have somebody pick up your pack tomorrow. You'll stay for a few days, right?"

"Yes. If that does not bother you."

_Oh Seeker, if you only knew what exactly was making me so hot and bothered._

"Don't worry about it. No big deal."

"Thank you. Good night."

"Night, Cas… Seeker."

***

It was close to pitch black in his room. Dying embers threw dull shadows and he couldn't fucking sleep. One should think that taking matters in his own hands —pun very much intended— would've helped tiredness along with a bit of satisfaction, but no. He turned again. And again. And as that didn't help, he turned fifteen times more. He growled at his own mind that only too willingly painted vivid pictures of the Seeker... maybe still wearing his shirt, maybe after he'd ripped it off, but always with a moan on her lips. Not that he knew what her moans sounded like, except the pained ones during a battle, and those didn't count. But his brain was pretty active when it came to her. Or when he imagined her coming, for that matter.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he mumbled. And it wasn't merely about the physical aspect, either. Which only made it all that worse. Otherwise, he just might've tried to seduce her —subtly, of course, or she'd likely eviscerate him at the mere suggestion— then maybe spend a few nights together, but his heart had developed different ideas.

 _Romantic_ ideas.

Just his luck that he always had those ideas about women he couldn't have. He turned his head and swore loudly into his pillow. Not that it helped much, of course.

So, he got up to put another log into the fireplace. The smoke turned into flames after a while and he considered his options. Surely watching her in her sleep wouldn't hurt anyone. He'd just have to make sure she never found out, otherwise she very much might hurt him.

On the way to his 'guest room', he fully put his rogue skills to work, nimbly stepping around the floor boards he knew that would creak under the slightest pressure. He opened the door a tiny bit, and when he only heard her even breathing, he opened it fully. Light flickered over her form, her features relaxed and peaceful. He leaned against the door frame, committing the image in front of him to memory. She was beautiful, with her braid loose on the pillow and the blanket twisted around those long legs.

She was so close he could almost reach out and touch her. But he wouldn't risk the _status quo_ he liked to call their friendship. Instead, he closed the door again and sat by the fire until the sun came up over Kirkwall, trying —and failing— to ignore what he couldn't have.

***

The next day brought bad news. The local Chantry's archives were, in fact, completely burned. Cassandra's scowl was so deep that he dragged her to Aveline who just took her in, and brought her to the Guard's training ring. The Seeker would be much less angry after a good workout.

Varric lingered at Aveline's desk until she lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I need a favor."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I need access to the city archives. The Seeker's looking for hints about something."

"Care to tell me what kind of hints?"

"A Seeker outpost. Fortress, or maybe only a house. Somewhere between here and Ostwick."

"Won't be easy. The Seekers know how to keep secrets."

"Yeah. Who knows the archives well enough?"

The Guard-Captain scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Ask the lead archivist Linte Klesh. She knows things about property, heirlooms and letter box companies. Avoid Bran on your way out."

"That goes without saying. Thanks, I owe you."

***

After their shared dinner, Cassandra excused herself much too early for his taste. He'd hardly seen her the whole day, and now she even deprived him of her company in the evening. Of course, he wouldn't comment on it, just bid her a good night, and go to his room to read a bit.

Or, to be more honest, wait an ample amount of time to make sure she'd be sleeping and then go and watch her again. He was becoming a creep, obviously.

Varric wasn't sure if he'd made a sound, or maybe said her name, or maybe the door frame creaked. But Cassandra was up in an instant, sitting on the bed with the knife she must've had under her pillow ready in her hand.

Andraste's tits, she was wearing his tunic again, despite the fact that she must have a night shirt in her pack. He was speechless, and if dwarves were able to dream, he wouldn't quite know if this was one or not.

She blinked a few times while he noticed how his shirt was pushed up around her hips, all of her legs uncovered. He silently thanked the Maker for her decision to wear smalls. Not that he wouldn't want to find out what she looked —and smelled and tasted and felt— like there but this was perhaps not the perfect time to unravel that secret.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice wasn't edgy, only sleepy. She tucked the knife back under the pillow and quickly rubbed her eyes, then slowly scratched her collarbone under his shirt.

 _Maker_.

She was going to seduce him without actually trying to.

"Couldn't sleep. Just wanted to make sure that everything's ok." His lie sounded flat even in his own ears.

"I see," she replied and pulled the cover over her thighs, and he spoke before his brain could catch up with his tongue.

"Don't—"

She looked up quizzically and held her hand still. "Don't what?"

He groaned and bumped the back of his head against the door frame.

The dark was a good cover for things that better were left unsaid. But it also made the cowards bold, let them do things they'd be too scared to do in bright daylight.

Varric swallowed heavily.

"Don't hide your legs," he mumbled. She observed him, then slowly pulled the blanket back and unfolded her limbs.

He couldn't believe his luck. Usually, at this point, he'd expect to either be at knifepoint or already unconscious. But now he got a free pass to stare at the infinity of her legs and that's exactly what he did.

They looked smooth, strong, every muscle formed to perfection, and with a couple of scars telling of her life as a warrior. Her knees were slightly parted, inviting but not obscene. At least, until she grabbed her pillow and got up. It was really a pity.

But then, Cassandra stood so close in front of him that he could smell her scent of leather and roses.

"It's getting cold," she announced and looked at him expectantly. His mind whirled through all kind of appropriate and inappropriate answers but his tongue stayed tied. She rolled her eyes and tugged on his hand. He followed her like a little lamb.

Her steps led them to his bed. She slid under the cover, patting the space next to her.

"I am _cold_ , Varric." And when he was too perplexed to move, she added, "Are you not going to warm me up?"

He swooned for a few seconds, flabbergasted at her determination, then climbed into his bed. She was pleasantly warm and smooth, and all woman when she nestled herself against him. Except for her knees. They were cold. And her feet were probably, too, but those were far away from his down there, so he didn't mind.

Of course, that was before she bent her legs, wrapped them around his and put her ice-toes against his calves.

"Shit, Seeker!" he shouted, a little louder than intended.

She only hummed contentedly and put one arm across his chest. "You're warm."

"And you're icy!" he grumbled and she chuckled. "At least partly."

"Sorry," she murmured against his throat and he had no clue how her mouth made it so close to him. Of course, he wouldn't complain. His cock had already been half-hard since she'd showed her legs and now, it agreed happily with her being so close. He bit back a moan when he felt Cassandra's breath winding around his neck.

***

She wanted to say, _I know of a few ways how you could make me hot_.

She wanted to say, _Kiss me, I've imagined that for months, and I can't wait any longer_.

She also wanted to say, _Touch me everywhere, Varric, I can't stop thinking about your hands on me_.

But it wasn't her way.

Cassandra's way was one of actions, so she played with the curly hair on his chest, painting little squares and waves on his skin, and she smirked when her questing fingers brushed over one nipple. His abs jerked in response and she pinched him gently, earning a pant this time.

She kissed his pulse point, a ridiculously intimate thing to do, inhaling his scent of vellum, ink, and a hint of smoke. It was foolish to think more could come of tonight. Isabela had told her that she'd only have to start, and everything would fall into place. And if he really rejected her, she could meet her at the Blooming Rose, and have a good time there. Of course, she'd hoped that he wouldn't push her away, hoped that he was just as fed up of being alone as she.

"Seeker."

Oh, if he only would say her name. She felt a twinge of sadness in her heart and pushed it down to the dark corners of her mind. Instead of wallowing in it, she moved her hands over his stomach, lower and lower, until her index traced the line of his breeches.

"Seeker." It was close to a deep growl now, and she heard desperation in it. For what, she wasn't sure and she wasn't going to ask.

Suddenly, his lips met hers, soft and sweet and wonderful, hands slipping under the collar and the hem of the shirt. Of _his_ shirt. Opening her mouth to him, she felt his tongue touching hers, almost questioning her, and she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, to press herself against him and show him just how much she wanted him

Cassandra eased back to give his hands more room. He took the hint, and she couldn't suppress a moan when his hand caressed her breast, giving it much more attention than she had to him. He rolled and plucked her nipples, and she felt how she got wetter and wetter.

Her hand slipped into his smalls, slowly palming his length and eliciting a moan from him. He felt so hard and smooth and… impressive. A few strokes later, he had her — _his_ — shirt pulled over her head and his mouth lavished her breasts with kisses and nips. She'd been thinking about this before, during lonely nights and busy days, and more often than she would freely admit, but the reality was so much better. Her other hand tangled into his hair, searching for purchase, trying to anchor herself. She wanted to push his smalls down, she _needed_ to get better access, and when that didn't really work, he helped her.

She tilted his head up and kissed him, tracing her tongue down his neck and over his chest while she tasted traces of salt on his skin. His hips snapped up when her breasts touched his cock on her way down, and she smirked. A few nips next to his belly button and on his hips made his breathing heavy and she slowly moved her hand up and down his length.

"Seeker," he gasped out when she followed the crease between his thigh and groin with the tip of her tongue. She stopped and looked up.

"My name, Varric." She demanded.

"Cassandra." He complied quickly, and she licked up from the base of his cock to the tip, blowing softly on it. "Oh _fuck_ , don't you fucking stop."

Her tongue circled around the head before she took him in. His strangled noise made her smile and she felt a hand fisting in her hair. The slight pain was still on this side of pleasure, and more arousal tickled her core, until she felt it dripping down her seams.

She moved her head slowly, letting him enter her mouth deeper with every hollowing of her cheeks. He thrust in her mouth now, trying to speed up her pace and not quite being able to.

A long drawn whine came from him as she let him plop out of her mouth and straddled him instead. She bent down to kiss him.

"Feel how wet you made me," she whispered into his ear and smeared her cunt over his erection in small circles. A deep throated groan escaped her when his hand gripped her hip and pushed her up. His eyes were dark, and she saw the need in them. A deep need for _her_. It was intoxicating.

She leaned back, letting herself hover over his cock. His eyes desperately followed her hands which stroked over her breasts, saw her pinching her nipples, and watching her throw her head back when she touched herself. Her breath hitched at the slowly coiling sensation.

"Fuck. Please, Cassandra, _please_."

"Anything you need?" She smiled and bit her trembling lip. It was hard to restrain herself but she wanted to hear it, wanted to know how badly he needed her when all she really wanted was to plunge down on him, hard, scream with every thrust, and come.

Truth was, she needed _him_.

"I need you. I want you. I want you to _fuck_ me."

Excitement jolted down her spine when he reached out to twist a nipple and brushed a thumb over her clit. She caught his eyes in hers, and she slowly lowered herself onto his cock, feeling a hint of pain as he stretched her open. It was almost more than she was ready for and Varric's face showed concern when she winced.

"Are you alright?" He stroked her cheek, and swallowed. She nodded. "You feel so good. I don't know how long—" The rest was buried in a groan as she started to rock her hips.

"Maker, Varric, touch me," she hissed when he snapped his hips up, hitting her deep inside. The feeling of him filling her, his thumb circling her nub, it made the tension inside her build up until it was almost ready to break.

She could tell he was close, with his ragged breath leaving his lungs and his possessive hands gripping her hips. And still, he didn't slow down his pace, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Please please please, make me come," Cassandra ground out between her teeth, and watching Varric's face distort with obvious effort to hold back, to ensure her pleasure, to make her _feel_ —

She screamed when her walls began to clench around him, hips shuddering uncontrollably and pressing herself against him as tightly as possible. He felt so good, buried deeply inside her while she rode out the aftershocks. She barely registered Varric's shout, but she felt insanely sated and happy when he pulled her down for a languorous kiss, hand stroking her back for some long and relaxed minutes.

"We're doing that again, right?" He looked at her while he stroked her hair, the lust in his eyes replaced by something unexpected. She dared to _hope_.

"I want to," she said and traced the shell of his ear with a fingertip.

"At least three times a day until you leave," he continued with a smirk, but then he got serious. "And you'll come back, right?" The uncertainty in his glance was unsettling and endearing at the same time.

"Do you want me to?"

"No no no, don't turn the question on me. Will you come back? Do you _want_ to come back?"

She observed the furrow between his brow and the laugh lines around his eyes. The first caused by what life had thrown at him, the latter a testament to how he handled it. With a story and a smile.

"Yes."

"Good. Because I want you to." He gently stroked her cheek and kissed her. "And I hate to fill you in but you're getting heavy." She swatted his shoulder and rolled off of him.

"I am not," she huffed.

"I'm just kidding. A bit. You probably only weigh half without your armor." He changed the subject. "I'm glad that your search for the Seekers brought you here."

"I might have left something out."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Lying by omission? You? Didn't you take a vow to speak the truth always and forever or something?" His eyes shone with mirth. She pinched his biceps and nestled herself against him with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her.

"There was another reason I came to Kirkwall." She hummed affirmatively after her words, emphasizing them.

"What's that reason?" His embrace tightened around her.

She hesitated for a few moments. It was supposed to come out right, not one of her usual blunt remarks without any poetry in it. But... well.

"I missed you," she said. "A lot."

"Really," he answered, not bothering to suppress a tone of appreciation and the smile on his face.

"Yes."

"How much exactly? On a scale from zero to 'Maker, the chest hair is magnificent'."

" _Varric_!"

He laughed and gave her a peck on the nose. "Glad that we feel the same about each other."

"So you missed me?"

"Yes."

"How much exactly?"

He smothered her happy laughter with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there I go again with the clothes-sharing trope... ;)
> 
> You might have noticed that I haven't pursued the issue with the secret outpost. I want to explore that at a (much) later time point, so I just have set the foundation here :).

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit NSFW-ness approaching in the next chapter ;). But I'm sure nobody is surprised.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the fic so far! Your kudos and comments give me life, so thank you to everyone who did so in my other stories <3!


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